


One More Fall

by Mitten (ScornfulSyntax)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alcohol, Cloti Fall Festival 2020, F/M, Romance, Traditions, cloti week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:00:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27576199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScornfulSyntax/pseuds/Mitten
Summary: Tifa has secretly kept a nostalgic tradition alive, even as she traveled the world with her companions. She invites Cloud to observe it with her before their final encounter with fate.Set in OG. Supplemental chapter for Innercandesence.For Cloti Fall Festival 2020 - Day 2 Prompt: Warmth & Tradition - In one kiss, you'll know all I haven't said.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife
Comments: 8
Kudos: 33
Collections: CloTi Fall Festival 2020 (ClotiWeek)





	One More Fall

**One More Fall**

**_Don't judge each day by the harvest you reap but by the seeds that you plant.  
—R. L. Stevenson_ **

A chill northern wind drove Cloud from the observation deck of the Highwind. He had been stargazing to distract himself from pressing thoughts about the future—or lack thereof. Even the heavens wouldn’t let him escape his troubles for long. A giant purple star, looming more prominently by the hour, hung overhead, heralding doom.

It was late, and most of the party had turned in for the night. The intrepid airship, run by the skeleton night crew, would press on in its course north to the crater—so that soon Cloud, and his party of companions, could try to stop the end of the world.

Cloud carefully pulled the hatch to the deck closed behind him. Turning to make his way to his bunk, he was surprised to spot a dim light on in the galley at this late hour. He thought perhaps it could be Cid or Barret enjoying a nightcap; but as Cloud neared the door to join them, he spied only one occupant through the small port window, her back to him and long black hair shielding her face from scrutiny.

Tifa was bent over a counter with a spread of some seven little bottles before her. The clear bottles’ contents ranged in color from pale yellows and pinks, to deep reds and amethysts. She carefully lifted each bottle, examined it, gave it a wipe down with a cloth, nimbly uncorked it, and set it back down in a line roughly from lightest to darkest. Cloud watched in fascination as she worked, the muscles of her arms flexing as she pulled the corks free from each bottle with a small grunt of effort. She turned and smiled so prettily as she smelled the contents, sighed with pleasure, and placed the bottles back down on the counter. He only realized he was staring, and possibly drooling, when she suddenly turned in the direction of the galley door to put the corkscrew away in a secured drawer.

Their eyes met.

She startled but quickly recovered and tipped her head slightly in greeting. It took all of his nerve not to look away in embarrassment at being caught peeking, but just as he was considering his next move, he realized she was smiling and beckoning him eagerly to come in—he’d be damned before he turned down an invitation to join Tifa.

He pushed the door open as coolly as he could manage and found her eyes again as she was securing the cabinet where the corkscrew lived. “Hey. Saw the light on. What’s all that? Potions?”

Tifa chuckled warmly and waved him forward, one finger raised instructively in the air as he took a seat at the galley counter on a stool, “Not potions. Wines. I’ve been collecting while we’ve been on the road.”

Cloud’s brow furrowed, “Really? Collecting wine samples? Why?”

Tifa leaned over on the counter toward him, resting on her forearms, “Do you remember what day it is?”

Cloud thought for a moment and shook his head, “Can’t say I do. So much has been going on.”

“It’s exactly three months after the harvest. Ah...well...in old Nibelheim, at least.”

Cloud’s eyes softened, “Ah, I guess it would be, huh? Kinda hard to remember with everything,” he gestured vaguely.

“Yeah,” Tifa sighed wistfully, standing up straight again with her hands resting folded on the counter top, “But...I couldn’t forget about today. When I opened Seventh Heaven, I held the Harvest Wine Competition for Sector 7 on this day every year.”

Cloud gaped at Tifa in astonishment, nerves completely forgotten as realization clicked into place, “I...I remember that! From Nibelheim? Mom used to make merryberry sparkling wine at harvest, and enter it at the competition at the inn every year.”

Tifa broke into a smile as bright as sunlight, and Cloud was transfixed, “That’s right! You remembered! Dad let me have a tiny sip of your mom’s sparkling wine once. It beat the pants off of dad’s spiced sour-gourd vinegar.”

They shared a rare laugh at the memory. Brian Lockhart’s wine making experiments were renowned—or perhaps notorious—for their hit-and-miss flavors, but any taste that got the town talking was free publicity in his estimation. It was good for his mayoral standing and endeared him to the public, especially when his flavor of the year flopped.

“Anyway, I knew it wouldn’t really happen this year, with Nibelheim and Seventh Heaven...and everything else...gone, but...”

“It’s tradition, right?”

“Yeah...Even if we’re the only ones who know it.”

Cloud looked away lost in thought. He realized he might never have remembered the little community competition again if Tifa hadn’t resurrected it. What else had been lost as each of their homes had been successively wiped from the face of the planet? It was overwhelming to consider, and the leather of his glove protested as he balled a fist in frustration.

“Cloud?” Tifa ventured, pulling him back to the present as she idly stroked one of the bottles with a finger, “Would you stay and taste these with me? I was going to do it alone, but...”

“Yeah! Can I?” He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously realizing the aggressive enthusiasm in his tone. “I mean, I bet mom would be happy to know you were keeping this alive...is all,” he finished, his voice failing slightly as he cringed inside at his own ineloquence.

Tifa broke out in the warm rich laugh that always drew the corners of his mouth up just a hair. “Please! I can’t drink all of this by myself, but the bottles are too small for everyone. It’s just perfect for two. Please stay and share this with me.” 

Cloud nodded, glad to be relieved of any need to fumble through further justifications. She could have invited him to sample rotten marlboro squeezings, and he would have accepted just to spend time with her. With a flourish, Tifa produced two wine glasses from another secure cabinet beneath the counter top. She placed one in front of him and then carefully poured them each a sample of the first wine—a bright crisp chardonnay from just outside of Kalm.

“Remember to swirl, sniff, and then sip!” Tifa repressed a snicker as Cloud carefully swirled his wine like a dangerous science experiment.

“It’s funny isn’t it?” Tifa mused, swirling her wine and delicately sniffing the straw-colored liquid.

“Hmm?”

“What might be the last Harvest Wine Competition is...like this? Decidedly-not-harvest wines from all over the world, not just from a small town or the neighborhood? Tasted in the galley of an airship over the open ocean in the middle of the night? And judged by the two of us?”

“It’s not so bad,” Cloud said thoughtfully, relaxing on his elbows on the counter top. “Kind of reminds us what we’re fighting for, right? We’re going to win, and we’re going to do this again.” Ferocity edged Cloud’s tone with absolute certainty. 

Tifa liked it. Her eyes sparkled, and her smile widened behind the rim of her glass. “Yeah. You’re right. We will do this again. I’ll hold you to that.”

Cloud smirked and nodded as he watched her pour the next taste—a beautiful dry rosé from Costa Del Sol. “A perfect porch pounder for a sunny day,” Tifa quipped.

“Sounds dangerous,” Cloud rumbled, eyeing the pink liquid.

The rosé went down far too easily. It was quickly followed by a tart berry red blend from Gongaga, then a mellow pinot from Mideel, and soon a deep, dark, rich cab from Corel that made Tifa swoon. As the generous samples warmed their blood and loosened the knots of their anxieties, Tifa made her way around the counter and perched on a stool next to Cloud, giggling as she leaned against the substitute bar top. Cloud mirrored her pose, endlessly swirling the cab that was too oaky for his tastes. Realizing he was never going to drink it, Tifa bravely swiped it from his hands and finished it for him, a charming blush staining the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks. Without asking if he’d care for a fresh glass, as a proper barmaid would do, she brazenly reached for the next of their last two wines to pour.

The remaining wines were dessert wines, the most expensive and treasured of the lot. The first an amber ice wine from the northern continent, and the second a ruby port, darker than sin, produced in small, coveted batches near Fort Condor.

“Have you ever had an ice wine before?” Tifa asked, carefully tipping the bottle to pour a generous share of the golden cordial in his glass. She stared at him, her eyes half lidded and twinkling with some kind of mischief.

“Don’t think so,” Cloud responded, struggling to focus on the wine in his glass instead of the beguiling wine-colored eyes beyond it. He could see the faint spot on the rim where her lips had pressed to the glass. Boldly holding her gaze, he turned the glass so he could sip directly from that spot.

“They’re really...really sweet...” Tifa stammered, breaking their eye contact to watch as he drained the glass of the rich amber liquid and licked his lips. He ran the pink tip of his tongue along the rim of the glass where a small drop had escaped, and it was all Tifa could do to pick her jaw up off the counter top. She was gaping, and it took her a beat to remember herself and quickly pour her own portion and throw it back. “W-what did you think?” She asked with forced exuberance, trying to draw attention away from her momentary distraction.

Cloud’s sharp senses missed nothing. He shrugged and captured her eyes with a piercing luminous gaze, “It’s okay, I guess. I think I prefer red.” He turned just slightly on his stool so that their knees brushed.

Tifa laughed nervously under his unwavering study. “Well, you’re in luck. We’re finishing on red.” She seemed to collect herself as she carefully portioned out the port. “It was really hard to get this. I had to bribe the man at the item shop in Fort Condor.”

Cloud snorted, “What did he want?”

Tifa chortled in mirth, “Our leftover greens from the chocobo farm...to feed to the bird.”

Cloud huffed a small laugh. He’d never even noticed them missing. Completely worth this in retrospect.

“Cheers?” Tifa asked, raising her glass, “To the last wine of definitely-not-the-last Harvest Wine Competition?”

Cloud raised his glass to hers, “I’ll drink to that. Cheers.”

Sharing a smile, they both brought the dark liquid to their lips. Tifa closed her eyes in abject bliss. “Mmmm...” The port was sweet, just shy of cloying, with rich complex flavors of berry, cherry, vanilla, and spice. As she pulled the glass from her lips, she stretched and sighed, “Ahh, I think maybe we have a winner.”

Cloud hummed, placing his empty glass on the counter. His eyes positively blazed as he watched her stretch, “I dunno. I need to taste it again to be sure.” A hand snaked around Tifa’s waist, pulling her closer to Cloud and slotting her between his knees on the stool. His free arm wrapped her into a warm embrace, his hand drifting up into her hair to draw her forward into a long sweet kiss—gentle and chaste by any measure—but more than enough for a second taste.

When at last he pulled away and smiled at her, watching her blush and bite her lip in mingled desire and shy embarrassment, he mused, “Mmm... think I’m going to have to have to award this year’s win to Nibelheim.”

“You always know just what to say...” Tifa threw down her glass, shattering it carelessly, and jumped Cloud in the stool where he sat.

Cid would be furious in the morning, finding the entire galley floor littered with glass as though a wine set had been summarily swept off the counter to the floor in some unthinkable rush.

"Goddamn kids."

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this supplemental chapter, consider reading the full story, [ Innercandesence. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455270)


End file.
